


Limits

by yummysubculture



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: D/s, M/M, boys who suck at feelings, stopping a scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:39:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yummysubculture/pseuds/yummysubculture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a two way thing, though— being able to do that for someone is really what does it for me.  It’s like…” he’d slurred, gesturing widely with his beer “like, I like the assists as much as actually scoring, you know?”</p>
<p>Jordan groaned.</p>
<p>“I am not drunk enough to discuss your kinky sex life.  I will never be drunk enough to discuss it <em>using hockey metaphors</em>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

> This round of the hockeyanonmeme, I've challenged myself to fill one prompt per page and I'm mostly not failing!
> 
> This is for this kink meme prompt:  
> "I've read some really great fics in which the sub in a D/s pair has needed to use their safeword or stop a scene or sex because they're uncomfortable with it for some reason, but I really like to see a twist on that in which it's the dominant partner choosing to end things prematurely because they find something upsetting or uncomfortable. Ideas as to be why could be that they feel like they're loosing control of themselves or any thing else you think of, but I'd prefer it not to be because they think that the sub needs to stop but hasn't. So basically something dealing with the fact that dominant individuals have limits too, with mutual reassurance and working through what went wrong."
> 
> That said, obvious warnings are obvious-- BDSM, consensual pain, blood, stopping a scene because one party is no longer comfortable.

Ryan shook with the force of the blow, gasping and moaning.  Taylor brought his arm back for another lash but paused, swallowing hard against the unease rising in his stomach.  He moved to stand in front of Ryan, cupping his jaw—gently enough that Ryan would totally give him shit for it later— and tilted his head up to look him in the eyes.  Behind a few tears he saw nothing but trust and desire.  
  
“Why’d you stop?”  Ryan’s voice was shaky and cracking.  
  
Taylor took a deep breath, tightening his hold to just the wrong side of painful.  Ryan sighed and closed his eyes, setting his jaw firmly against Taylor’s bruising hold.  
  
“It’s the off season.”  He’d said earlier that night as he handed Taylor the whip. “I want marks that will last me weeks.”  
  
Sliding his hand down and around Ryan’s collared neck, he shifted to his previous position behind him.  His pale back was already crossed with sharp, puffy lines, but it was clear that he wanted Taylor to continue.  Taylor touched the end of one welt, ragged under the wing of Ryan’s shoulder blade.  Blood oozed out around Taylor’s fingertip.  
  
His stomach clenched painfully, nausea hitting him in a sudden wave and he dropped the whip and sank to his knees.  When Ryan craned his neck around to look back at him, he looked wary—both suspicious and concerned— and Taylor hated being the cause of it.  
  
“I can’t.” Taylor breathed, his voice barely a whisper.  He couldn’t bring himself to meet Ryan’s eyes again, everything suddenly too much.  
  
“I can take it.”  Ryan said accusingly.  “You know I can take it.”  
  
“I know you can, man.  But I can’t.  This is…” Taylor took a deep shuddery breath.  He looked down at Ryan’s blood on his hands, the twitching muscles in Ryan’s legs in front of him.  “This is my limit.”  
  
“Untie me.”  
  
Ryan’s voice was cold, his cheeks blotched with an angry red flush.  He raised his voice—“Untie me, Taylor.”  
  
Taylor stood and unbuckled Ryan’s hands from their restraints in a daze, starting to rub circulation back into his wrists like he usually did after a scene.  Ryan pulled his hands away.  
  
“Please, Ryan, I’m sorry.  I’ll try harder, but I just can’t do this right now.”  
  
He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking.  He couldn’t understand his own body’s reactions and he suddenly wished he was a million miles away, away from Ryan and the blood and this feeling that he couldn’t even begin to categorize still burning though his throat and gut.  His face blazed with shame—Ryan trusted him.  He was pretty sure Ryan loved him.  He knew down to his bones that these things were mutual, but here he was unable to meet Ryan’s eyes, unable to meet the expectations of that trust.  His eyes stung—God, he was exhausted.  
  
He felt Ryan’s hand soft and warm on his shoulder.  “Hey.  Don’t.  I’m not mad.  I just can’t—we need to talk about this, Hallsy.”    
  
Taylor looked up at him, still feeling dazed, and so far from dominant. “Just not tonight, okay?” Ryan continued and overwhelming gratitude washed through Taylor, settling the butterflies that had started to replace the ache in his stomach.  
  
“You can sleep in the guest room tonight if you want…” he suggested in a small voice and Ryan rolled his eyes.  
  
“Hell no.  Someone has to make sure I don’t roll onto my back.”  His eyes were fond and a little sad and Taylor found himself wishing—not for the first time nor the last—that he could be better, be a little closer to the impossible perfection that Ryan deserved.  


..........

  
  
Trying to determine which aspect of their relationship came first—love or sadomasochism—would be like arguing chicken and egg.  They worked as a couple because they complemented each other so well (on the ice and in the bedroom) and they complemented each other so well because their trust was rooted in love.  
  
They’d been flirting for months with no mention of each other’s proclivities until one night, alone in Ryan and Shultzy’s apartment in OKC, restless and a little drunk, things finally boiled over.  After kissing each other breathless on the couch, Ryan sank to his knees, placing Taylor’s hands in his hair before swallowing his cock.  Taylor squeaked embarrassingly, unsure if the thing with the hands was an invitation to pull Ryan’s hair or what.  Fuck, he wanted it to be.  
  
Ryan pulled off with an obscene pop and an even more obscene smirk.  “I looked at your porn collection.  My safe word is “Calgary” and you’ll never hear me use it.”  He slid Taylor back into his mouth, taking him in until tears sprang into his eyes and Taylor was so suddenly and overwhelmingly turned on that he thought he might burst out of his skin.  
  
He yanked brutally at Ryan’s hair and the vibrations of the resulting moan around Taylor’s cock combined with the visual of Ryan willing and compliant at his feet was far and away the hottest thing Taylor had ever experienced in his young life.  
  


..........

  
  
  
Taylor had had other subs before—usually one offs with people he met at clubs— but none as demanding or with as high a pain tolerance as Ryan’s.  For all his sweetness and naivete he was, as Taylor quickly discovered, an insatiable pain slut.  No matter how much he hit or how hard he bit, Ryan always begged for more, harder, Taylor, please.  
  
Other subs, male and female, had made Taylor feel powerful and in control and alive, but with Ryan, he felt like he was burning—that the fiery rapture in Ryan’s eyes as he dropped into subspace had set him alight as well.  
  


..........

  
  
“It’s a two way thing, though— being able to do that for someone is really what does it for me.  It’s like…” he’d slurred, gesturing widely with his beer “like, I like the assists as much as actually scoring, you know?”  
  
Jordan groaned.  
  
“I am not drunk enough to discuss your kinky sex life.  I will never be drunk enough to discuss it _using hockey metaphors_.”  
  


..........

  
  
When Taylor awoke, he was cold.  It was instantly, alarmingly clear that there was no one else in the bed.  He shot upright and tore the covers off Ryan’s side—the sheets were dotted with blood.  His heart jumped up into his throat and when the smell of frying bacon hit him, he couldn’t help but gag.  
  
Wait, bacon?  
  
He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair and was mid-yawn when Ryan appeared in the doorway looking sheepish.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hey… we good?” Taylor asked nervously.  
  
“Yeah, I just…”  Ryan sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.  “I get so caught up sometimes that I forget this isn’t just about me.  That for things to be good for both of us, we need to meet somewhere in the middle.”  
  
Taylor scooted forward and put his arm around Ryan.  “Sorry that I can’t give you everything you need, I just can’t… go any further than I can go, you know?”  
  
Ryan tucked his head into Taylor’s neck, folding himself into Taylor’s lap as much as his height would allow.  “You trust me and you let me trust you.  You never make me feel ashamed to want what I want.  You give me exactly what I need.  Sometimes our preferences don’t line up perfectly—I wouldn’t expect them to.  I reacted badly last night, I know and I’m sorry.  I want you to know that it’s okay to ask me to stop, just like I know you’d stop right away if I asked you to.  That goes both ways.”  
  
He paused, looking up at Taylor though his eyelashes, heart-stoppingly beautiful and a little shy.  “I love you, Hallsy.”  
  
The seconds stretched out into minutes and Ryan had begun to shift a little, impatiently, in Taylor’s lap before Taylor finally huffed a little laugh into his hair.  “How the fuck are you younger than me, Nugget?  You’re, like, scarily mature.  More than I’ll probably ever be.”  
  
“Not hard, Hallsy.” He answered softly, laughing as Taylor dumped him onto the floor and wandered into the kitchen to investigate the possibility of bacon.  



End file.
